


Implicit

by weather_for_feathers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ambiguous country, Brain Damage, Childhood Trauma, High School AU, M/M, Marco uses an etch-e-sketch to talk, Mute Marco, PTSD, chemistry class, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 08:32:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12790725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weather_for_feathers/pseuds/weather_for_feathers
Summary: Enter: A boy who can't talk , and a boy who can't talk about his feelings. Chemistry puns and fluff to kill.AKA Marco is mute from brain damage, and Jean just wants to be held.





	Implicit

Through life, the more you say goodbye, the more you realise you're creating a new hello. 

I’m not some grand poet. I’m simply a kid not dying. I like that term because it’s the median between literally being dead at one end, and living to your fullest potential at the other. And everyone will always fluctuate between the two, but you know you’ll come back to not dying at some point. 

So, enter the story of me. How I met a person so endearingly rebellious, sophisticated and clueless. The kind of person I was so close to, leaving him would be like ripping an oak from its roots - like the seams of his being had intruded and planted themselves in the walls of my heart, and I wouldn't be able to tell him how much it hurt. I don’t want to say love. And I don’t want to say what other words can compensate. I don’t want to say there are no words, because that’s what every comfortably buried romance author uses that, and it doesn’t really tell you what there IS. 

I’ll summarise it in a picture. And because you’re reading, you don’t know, and will never know the picture that comes to mind. 

But you’ll find your own some day.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

A boy in a classroom. Summer breeze and fluffy clouds that make you hungry as soon as you think of a cliché about cotton candy.

A boy in a classroom, his face on the desk. The other is smiling shyly as he pulls out a chair beside me, the noise probably drawing what attention wasn’t already on him.

“Welcome”

Dry erase marker on a whiteboard. A zip opening. I lift my head from my arms and look out the window to the soft green of the magnolia tree that had the motivation to reach up to the second-story window. It needed cleaning.

I assess this before caving to my curiosity and glance over to the newest member of my chemistry class. He fiddled with his stationary for a moment, and traced out a heading to today’s topic, paying particular attention to underlining it before he looked around.

He met my gaze. Deep brown eyes. Irregular dimples and freckled cheeks that formed a small smile. 

The expression shifted to nervous. I don’t blame him, I was pretty much gaping. I watched with extreme interest as he moved a hand to his chest to emphasize one of those blue “Hello, I’m…” stickers. What a strange way to introduce yourself….

“Marco” Etched in rounded block writing. The kind with Big capitals for capitals and small capitals for lower case. Marco.

‘Ah, what’s in a name….’

My brain short-circuited to Shakespeare quotes as it concocted a response. Neurons firing in every direction:

“My name is Jean.” Well, crisis averted for the most part, even if I sounded like an idiot “It’s nice to meet you.” 

I sounded like budget AI. 

He smiled. Like ripples on a lake in winter, a minute here.

Gone the next.

I smirked and turned my head down to animatedly copy down all relevant information the teacher was spilling in dot points. I really should have been more thorough, because it just meant I’d need to improve my understanding of hydrogen bonding tonight.

But selective attention is a common experience for me. So I did notice when he pulled an... etch-e-sketch?... out of his computer bag and quickly jotted down a sentence on it.

\- Why was he using such ancient technology? Where did he even find it? -

At the end of my own dot-point, I took a leap of courage and looked over at the board and my eyes widened in surprise at the sentence written in that same rounded print;

 _'I’m mute. I know this is weird, but can I please hang out with you at recess_?' Below it were two boxes, with a Y above one and an N above the other.

I looked at him again. I knew he knew I was looking, and I know that his appearance wouldn’t be anything to go by in my appraisal, but this whole interaction was disorganized and strange, yet he was not uptight, and he had been sincere enough to ask me.

I didn’t really have to think before ticking the ‘Y’ box. The smile I was rewarded with when he checked the answer was worth a thousand affirmative answers.

Class went by quickly. Taking notes and answering textbook questions. I kept to myself as to not put him on the spot, and I think his studious smile indicated his relief.  
  
This is the pathetically sappy intro to how I met the world's best person; my person; Marco Bodt.


End file.
